


Good for the Soul

by Claire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Priest!kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-25
Updated: 2009-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-02 03:53:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good for the Soul

Running a finger under the dog collar at his throat, Dean couldn't help but be grateful that the job was over. Posing as a priest for a couple of hours was fine, but a couple of weeks was pushing it.

If Dean had to listen to one more confession from someone who seriously believed _lustful thoughts_ would send them to Hell, he was going to end up standing in the pulpit and explaining in graphic detail exactly what he did to an angel of the Lord most nights and how God was absolutely fine with it.

Still, though, it had been kinda worth it for the advice he'd ended up giving that kid the week before who'd confessed he was dating another guy. It was less _seven hail Marys_ and more _if you roll your tongue this way--_ He'd been pretty sure whoever it was had been rather surprised at the gay sex tips coming from the other side of the confession box, but he'd heard a pencil scraping across paper so the kid couldn't have been _that_ traumatised if he'd been taking notes.

And Sam had turned out to be surprisingly good at giving sermons, the congregation hanging on his every word. He also, according to Ruby, looks disgustingly hot as a priest, which was why she'd decided to take off to Vegas until the job was done. _I don't think I'll be able to keep my hands off him and it might shock the little old ladies if they come in to find one of their priests being ridden like a pony on the altar,_ had been the exact quote. Dean's still trying to scrub the mental image from his brain.

One of said little old ladies, a widow by the name of Mrs Evans who'd been unable to take her eyes off Sam's ass when he'd bent over once, had approached them one night and said how good it was to see the church so full of young people again. She'd implied that it had something to do with her granddaughter telling several of her friends that the two new priests at St Luke's were sinfully attractive, but Dean kinda thought that the fact the last five priests at the church had all died in horrible ways within the first week of being there was more likely to be the reason people were avoiding coming in.

Once they'd passed their second week without being eviscerated people had started coming back, thankful that whatever curse had befallen the church had gone. Dean just nodded in all the right places whenever people commented that they were glad he and Sam hadn't been found hanging from the ceiling with their intestines dangling out, and refrained from pointing out that it had been a particularly nasty ghost as opposed to a curse and it wasn't so much _gone_ as _salted, burned and had its skanky ass sent packing_.

And now they were done, and just had to make sure they were gone before the priest who _should_ have been at the church turned up the next day. (Dean still didn't know how Bobby had managed to pull enough strings to get a priest delayed by a couple of weeks, but he learned early not to question the ways of Bobby.)

Which is why Dean's not impressed when he hears the doors open behind him, not when he's trying to work out how much holy water they can fit in the back of the Impala. The last thing he wants is to be cornered by another married guy who's feeling guilty about banging his secretary.

"We're closed!" he yells, hoping whoever it is will get the hint and fuck off.

"Surely the House of God is _always_ open."

And Dean can't help the smile that crosses his face at Cas's voice. "Not tonight. Tonight, it's closed for business."

"That's-- a pity."

And the hesitance in Cas's voice has Dean turning around to face him.

Cas is already half-way to him, soft footfalls barely audible against the floor. "I've got to admit a certain kinship with Ruby right now, with her thoughts on your outfits."

"What? You wanna ride Sam like a pony, too?" Dean jokes.

"Not _Sam_ ," comes the reply as Cas stops close to him, fingers reaching out to run over Dean's throat.

And Dean's dog collar is suddenly that much tighter, Cas's fingers leaving trails of heat across Dean's skin.

A wave of Cas's hand and the sound of the bolt sliding home in the doors echoes through the church.

"Cas?"

But Cas doesn't answer, just sinks to his knees in front of Dean, head bowed.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been--" there's a pause "-- _a while_ since my last confession."

And for _a while_ read _never_ , because what the fuck does an angel have to confess. It's not like he's gotta cleanse his soul to get into Heaven, seeing as he _already lives there_. Which is why Dean's _confused as fuck_ as to why Cas is kneeling before him. Confused right up until Cas raises his head and meets Dean's eyes, gaze heated and pupils wide and--

"You kinky son of a bitch."

But Dean can work with this. Can work with Cas on his knees and looking at him like Dean's the answer to fucking _everything_.

"Tell me," he says, taking a couple of steps back and leaning against the altar. "Confess your sins to me."

There's a second, two, and then--

"I've lain with a man and taken pleasure in his body."

"And did you enjoy it?" Even if Dean already knows the answer. Knows it in shudders and moans and his name gasped out into the darkness.

"Very much." But it's nice to have it confirmed.

"And did he?"

"I believe so." Soft smile accompanying the words.

"You believe right," Dean murmurs. Enjoys it every time he presses Cas down, every time he feels Cas's hands on him. And Dean wonders for a moment if getting hard in a church with an angel kneeling at your feet is considered blasphemy or not. Then again, if God hasn't struck him down for all the things he's done to Cas before now, then this is hardly likely to tip the scales.

"What else?" Dean asks, because there's always _more_.

"I've watched him." Voice quiet, careful.

Dean frowns. "You watch me all the time, Cas." And Dean accepts that, since it's kinda, y'know, _Cas's job_.

But Cas is still speaking. "I watch him when he's _alone_ , when I don't _need_ to watch him."

The tone of Cas's voice hits him, brings the realisation of what Dean tends to be doing when Cas is _watching_ him.

"I've watched him with his eyes closed and his hand wrapped around himself and my name on his lips."

"Jesus, Cas, I--"

All the blood in Dean's body is suddenly in his cock, making his head swim and his dick harder than it's ever been.

And Cas is _still fucking talking_.

"I've taken him into my body, suckled him with my lips--"

But Dean can't hear any more, can't hear anything beyond the rushing of blood through his ears. His fingers are shaking as he wrestles his trousers open, hand inside and releasing his cock as soon as he can, hissing as the cool air hits his heated flesh.

"Cas--"

Cas is looking at him, tongue darting out to lick at his lower lip before he starts fucking _crawling_ to Dean and closing the rest of the distance between them.

"I've held him in my mouth and drank him down--"

The words are a soft murmur, a whisper across Dean's cock before Cas's lips open and Dean is engulfed by wet and hot and fucking _perfect_. And he's not going to last long, _can't_ last long, not with his cock sliding down Cas's throat and his fingers tangling in Cas's hair.

"Jesus, _fuck--_ "

Dean's hips buck as Cas starts humming, fucking _humming_ , throat rippling around Dean's flesh and it's game over, fat chick fucking singing to the Heavens as heat and want and need explode in Dean's belly. His fingers tighten in Cas's hair as he comes, holding Cas flush against him. And if Cas was human, Dean knows there'd be gagging and breathing issues and the probable occasional _you bastard_. But Cas isn't human. He's gloriously fucking _not_ human and his hands are wrapped around the backs of Dean's thighs as Dean shudders and shakes and fucking _empties_ himself into Cas.

Dean's dick is soft when he loosens his hold on Cas's hair and let's Cas move back, Dean's cock slipping from between Cas's lips as he clutches at the altar behind him, solid and sturdy and the only thing keeping Dean up right now. Absently swiping a finger along his lower lip, Cas catches a drop of Dean's come. And if Dean could, he'd get hard again as Cas sucks Dean's come off his fingertip, but he's done and fucking _drained_. It still doesn't stop his cock from giving a valiant final twitch at the sight, though.

Dean thinks they should go, thinks they should finish packing up and get out. Get back to the motel Sam's already checked in to, back to where he can push Cas onto the bed and climb on top of him. Thinks they'll do it just as soon as he's sure his legs will support him, just as soon as he's not looking at Cas and thinking how it would be to fuck him on the altar, instead of a motel bed, the scent of olives and cinnamon slicking the way for him to slide inside.

Cas is still on the floor, head back and neck arched and hand stripping his cock, hard and fast and Dean's name on his lips as he comes, splattering the floor with white. And Dean wonders if it makes the ground more holy or less that an angel came here, that an angel succumbed to mortal lust, to mortal _needs_. Wonders if Cas's come means that the church will prosper for the next hundred years.

He thinks about asking as Cas tucks himself back into his trousers and gets to his feet more gracefully than Dean feels right now. Thinks about it right up until Cas looks at him, _looks_ at him, eyes wide and cheeks flushed and "Dean--" on his lips, low and careful and breath still heavy.

It's not until Cas's eyes flick down, gaze on Dean's neck that Dean realises he's running a finger along the dog collar, finger tips brushing his throat in the same way Cas's had earlier. And when Cas presses closer, one hand around Dean's arm and one hand pulling the cloth off the altar, candles and cup and oil clattering to the floor, all Dean can think is that, after this, he's totally keeping the outfit.


End file.
